And They're All Bold As Love
by Xtase
Summary: After all these years and despite your better judgement...why will this feeling not perish?


I hereby declare that I claim no rights to **NARUTO © 1999 by Kishimoto Masashi/SHUEISHA Inc. **and receive no monetary benefit for any narrative I publish hereafter based on this manga or any of its other media adaptations.

Warnings are in place for slash (male on male coupling), violence, sexual content and strong language.

-Xtase

_This is a very special gift-fic, dedicated to MDVG. If you are reading this, I deeply apologise for the lengthy delay. The inital ideas I got for this piece just would not coalesce in my mind. My schedule is also horrendously full, so I was unwilling to write a multichapter fic, but I couldn't come up with a way to make an amazing oneshot either. So I waited, and I puzzled. Until today; when inspiration hit me like a bullet train. It felt so __**good**__ writing this; the words flowed like __**lava**__. So I hope you enjoy my first AU, my first Deidara & Sasori feature. Thanks for your support, luv. Enjoy._

_..._

_I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the colour of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty._

_-Pablo Neruda_

The tiny blond boy in the classroom surrounded by his dough. They had sat in fat planetary lumps, in every colour, orbiting around him. And you were curious because you thought his gloden glow was as the sun's.

He dimpled his chin and peeked his tongue between his lips in concentration.

"Whatcha doing?" you asked.

His bright blues had flickered up to your face. And his words were pearly and childish.

"I'm makin' a bird," he said simply. He dimpled as he grinned, proffering a red blob to you "Wanna try? It's fun."

"I don't really like playing with dough,"

"I'm not _playing_, un!" he said indignantly " I'm _makin'_ somethin'. It's different. It's..." _(art) "_you know..." he finished vaguely, beacuse he was too young yet to know the words. He thrusts the dough at you again, more impatiently.

"It's magic dough," he chirruped "you can even eat it!"

"No way,"

"It's true! And it tastes real good, un." he plops a dollop of baby blue onto your lips. "Try!"

You hesitate, but those eyes as blue as the sky, you just trust them. Because the sky does not lie, and neither do they. The dough disappears with a swipe of your tongue; also darting at his pudgy fingers. It's salty...yummy. As he said.

"See?" he proclaims happily, cracking a happy wide smile. And you wondered how that colourful blob had tasted so oddly pleasant. Could you eat other colourful things as well? Like this boy's minty teeth or his buttery hair. Would he also taste good? Would he let you...?

These questions, and others, so many buzzing around in your brain all at once. But the most mundane, yet the most important...it blurts out of you like a paintball.

"What's your name?"

"Me? I'm Deidara, pleased to meetcha!" and you thought that if this had been a comic book, there would have been big yellow shout-lines with red borders radiating from his head. Bold as brass.

"What's yours?" he adds eagerly. You did not know why this surprised you.

"Sasori,"

He plopped a fuschia dough ball, _splat_ in front of you. And guided your fingers to it.

"Make something with me, Sasori."

"Uh. Okay," your new companion was mighty pleased.

"Hey Sasori, from now on let's be friends, okay?" and oh, your insides glowed at the hopeful intonation of that question mark.

"Sure,"

And for one year, in a cheery haze of flipping seasons, you had been. With all the wet fingerpaintings, the pastel chalk-drawings on concrete, the pushing and shoving into laughing mud puddles, and launchings into the blazing sunset as you played on the swings, that came with it. And then you graduated and went your separate ways. And then you had, for the most part, forgotten him for a while.

But you ended up in middle school together, years later. In he walked with the shirt of his uniform untucked and his tie skewed and his now-long hair tucked behind his ear just so. And you remember; I know; so clearly, how you had snapped your black-and-silver striped HB pencil clean in two. And how you had _basked_, in his grin that was_ furious_ with glee, because he saw you. And _he had remembered __**you**_.

"Still wanna be pals, like always?" in words that glowed white as the floss of heaven. And then you felt ashamed.

You had been far braver as a child; before the loss of your precious ones happened. Before _life _happened. Before time had taken its toll and the hourglass had cracked from the pressure: and its burning sands, riddled with the crystals of the glass shards and your fossilized tears, had poured themselves into your heart. Turned it into an urn of desert ash. And you had selfishly _let it in_, bathing in the dunes of regret clasped in your chest. Let it fill your emptiness. Leaving not a gap free to cherish _any _friend.

Someone like you...did not deserve him.

And so began your hunger pangs. Yawning wide into a chasm whenever his voice hit your ears. Starving for his wheat-skin, drowning in fantasms of coating your tongue in the thick flow of his golden-syrup hair, tasting his healthy cheeks with your dripping slick tongue. His cherry berry lips taunted you the most.

And you often startled awake to sticky roped-up sheets that burned your cold-sweated skin. With that _same image_ in your mind's eye. Of those (_hisHIS)_ lips dusted with sugar crystals, and you dipping your rapidly developing manhood between them. _Inside_ the sugar frosted opening were the sweet wet caramel churned and gushed in reception.

Looking at him during the mornings after those special-awful night befores made your cheeks burn and your ears match your hair. Knowing, _knowing_ that it just couldn't (_musn't) _be. But as you watched him day after day being your _friend_, just your _friend _(_hesveryonesfucking__**friend**_) you knew one day the thread would snap. You needed a plan; and quick, before you had a meltdown.

So you were glad that Deidara preferred to sit at the back of the classroom. And one rainy purple day, you finally got your chance. Your deskmate Hidan was absent; and you slipped out the tiny sliver of scissors you hid under your wrist warmer, strapped to your pulse by the leather band of your wristwatch. And the moment of truth; it came and went, with a barely audible _snip_.

Your heart throbbed and your cheeks flushed at the sight of his yellow essence in your palm. You quickly tied up the lock of hair with a thin strap of rawhide amd slipped it into your bag. And as you stared at the back of his glossy unsuspecting head, your tongue swelled in your mouth as the wasps of regret stung you for your cowardice. So you snuck your precious snippet home and stowed it away in the chest your grandmother had helped you make the week prior. In your hope chest. Because your real chest was too suffocating and constricted to allow hope to dwell. And you waited.

In high school, you dared to take art classes. Art was an extension of soul. And here you were, _polluting _the craft so dear to your dear's heart with your fake vivid bursts of colour that spoke of the rainbow in your heart that _didn't exist there_. Because it existed in someone else; the golden-god-boy who graced your nightmares and dreamscapes alike with his _jarring_ presence.

And you remember, _you remember_ those halcyon moments at the end of that farce of a class when the two of you passed the threshold of the door, and for a fleeting moment you were _alone_ _with him_ in your own little doorway-world. And you remember the yen for the fine golden hair adorning his forearms, simply wanting...

Wanting to suck those stained fingers with bruising suck-force. Those splotches of pigment so deeply ingrained in his skin that they must have absorbed his essence. You wanted to suck it, _all_ off. Consume those rainbow tinges and imbue them into your belly-core. Until your blood was a screaming tye-dye river gushing through your body; painting your insides until there was no darkness left.

You clenched your fist and willed these images away; lest you be consumed by them. You shut your eyes from his glory-bright blaze; because it has baked your brown eyes into hard caked up dirt, riddled with cracks. Because you feared that your love would shine through those fissures and expose you to him; that their white-hot nudity would scare him away, leave you with nothing. And you remained still.

But your waters had been stirred into a raging whirpool of destruction because of what had happened a few weeks later. At Konan's place, where the only illumination came form the red glow of these tiny berryesque light bulbs festooned over the doorways, and paper lanterns suspended from the ceiling.

When you spied a luxuriant head of silky black hair towering over a familiar yellow topknot. When the flesh under your fingernails tingled, in faded blue _terror_ at their proximity. And when your jaw literally dropped when Nagato threw his redhead back in laughter, no longer barring your eyes from that _revolting_ sight. And you were looking at _it._ At that _asshole_ Itachi shoving his tongue down Deidara's throat. _Raping_ his mouth and tongue and lips. Forget that he had seemed to be willing, you just hadn't wanted to think of the possibility of _that_ at the time. _Fuck_ how Deidara felt; he had been raped from you, by that disgustingly perfect Uchiha _bitch_.

So you ripped him away and slammed his pretty face into the nearest hard surface. And he had responded by planting the infamous bone-mashing left hook in your jaw that you had conveniently forgotten about. The rest of the night had been lost in a shrapnel blast of flinty red stars.

...You have not seen him since then. And the superheated sands shift heavily in your chest every time you move. Your heart has cracked, and the scorpions have scurried out to riddle your blood with their poison.

You thrust your feet into the glass waters of the lake; your special spot. And think of all those times you thought of him here; and see the blistering image of reality plastered over your lids everytime you close your eyes. It was all an illusion...

"Found!" and your back snaps straight at the sound of that shout.

And oh God, here _he _comes crashing through the undergrowth, and you wonder how you did not hear him before. And when you turn, your brain grows numb; and then you wonder how the holy hell you had ever managed to keep your hungry hands off him.

This magnificent youth, with his tousled sunflower tresses; for once swept back from his face. So you could see his _lovely_ forehead and _sensuous_ jawline. The handsome face so tanned and flawless. His _entire _visage is naked to your starving eyes. And a bolt from the big blue; a voice of Providence, it hisses into your brain, the words:

_My skinflesh tingles for the burn of your fledgeling digits._

_Do you know that I know but do not care_

_That your breath is laced with their cologne scent and your skin reeks of their vicious ripeness_

_That they have ripped and rended at your stormy steel seas_

_Yes, yes, bring them. All to my hot heart's maw_

_Let my soul eat, consume their fleshly fruit. The luscious heat of man.._

_Spit out the spicy pits and crush the rest, deep on the pressure of my roaring juices_

_Where your rage is my home_

_Your rancor my awe; their ire my rapture_

_Come, come only to me_

_At last!_

You don't know where this bomb-nuke has come from. But somehow you don't care; you no longer give a fuck about your guilt, your reasons, or Itachi. They are puny, insignificant; they _pale _in the wake of this sun-drenched _beauty_ before you.

Because you now know; that you have fallen deeply, madly, _monstrously_ in love with this Adonis. And your passions sieze you, make your eyes blaze hard. He looks startled, speaks thinly.

"Sa - "

"Shut up," you mutter gruffly, springing up and viciously gripping his arm. You finally pull him till your faces are close; and finally taste the forbidden fruit.

A pause, and out of the blue.

"You finally grew some balls...Danna," his deep voice is redolent with the scent and colour of sunset peaches. Teasing against your lips, against your...kiss.

And his lips, they move on yours, _capture_ yours. Deidara; is kissing you back. You are so moved, so _inspired_, that you finally plunge your fingers into his light-bright blond locks. And oh, a thick mass of hair is _so _much better to play with than one lonely snippet that disappears strand by strand _every fucking day _beneath your pillows. And when his strong arms wrap around you, your throat cries out, you ravage his lips.

You bury your nose in the summer-smelling hair and tease his ear with your teeth. And you whisper, you _breathe_, the words...

"I love you," and your hearts leaps, jumps,damn near _explodes _when you feel his embrace tighten and hear his breath catch.

And then...then the words that blind you as you blaze them into your memory:

"I love you, too." and the visible spectrum coverges, explodes into a pure white bolt.

The next thing you know; your world is spinning as you enter him. And you thrust, _thrust_ your strong young hips against your happiness. Your sunshine. You finally bury yourself in his happy healthy flesh; feel it _buckbuck _back against you. And your body shudders with silent screams, of victory, of jubilation. Because you have finally buried yourself in this man-pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Your abs hurt, your legs are tight and your arms burn but you keep bucking and snapping and _reaching_ for the moment when your plural becomes _singular_ beacause your souls have become one.

And as you reach for that tripped-out psychedelic sky-high, the blistering iron sandings baking in your heart finally pump away. Into your singing bloodstream, towards your roaring brain. Your baked-mud eyes dissolve in the rivulets welling up between the fissures; your eyes, they transform into sparkling wet pools as the sand and glass finally seeps out in a fat diamond-drop tears.

You weep unabashed, for there is no shame to honour the one you care for by showing him your tears. Your heart squeezes itself freely as you see the worst, formerly most important parts of you drip onto his grinning face.

Through your clumped up eyelashes you see his ruddy apple-cheeks. His golden-fleece hair and ripe-wheat skin, shimmering with the musk of his pores. And he touches your face, his fingers tender and stinging; he is wiping your tears away and giving you his beaming simper. That curl of rose lips that has delighted you and irritated you for all this time.

You remember all the times they have made you dream, made your eyes itch with the desire to watch him live. And you want to watch him _dream_; while you cradle his head in a crescent bed of moon-cheese and sprinkle him with fucking stardust so his face _sparkles_ like that weird-ass vampire in those vexatious Twilight films. He can have the whole shebang; because he loves you _he loves you_, and you want to make sure he never regrets that he does for one moment.

And you crush the coral lips like berries and the laughter behind them under the winepress of your deep red kiss. And grow drunk off his ripe, fragrant colours. All of him, all of them, as vivid, as bold as your love.

Finis.


End file.
